The Sherlock Holmes Show
by Helelelicken
Summary: Sherlock, star of the show- but he doesn't know. Sherlock Holmes is a man whose life is a nonstop TV show. Sherlock doesn't realize that his quaint hometown is a giant studio set run by a visionary producer/director/creator, that folks living and working there are Hollywood actors. People from all over try to get him to see, to realize. None have worked harder than Molly Hooper. AU
1. Chapter 1

The Sherlock Holmes Show

Rating: T

Author's note: **This is a rewrite. **I am still the same author but I just decided it was time to improve some of my work. Same plot. Same direction. Nothing except the style should be too different. Thank you so, so, much **MorbidbyDefault** for letting me use this idea!

**CHAPTER 1:**

"_We've become bored with watching actors. Give us phony emotions. We're tired of pyrotechnics and special effects. While the world he inhabits… is, in some respects, counterfeit, there's nothing fake about Sherlock Holmes himself- No scripts, no cue cards. It isn't always Shakespeare, but it's genuine. It's a life."_

* * *

He's pacing back and forth, this gnawing itch in his brain telling him to think. Just think. Think and maybe he could relieve himself of this dreadful apathy. He hasn't had a case in so long and he felt like exploding. What was wrong with London? Beautiful crime rate, perfectly scheduled but then it just dies down. He swore it did it on purpose just to throw him off. He needed the lab. He needed to experiment. He needed to do _something. Anything _to rid him of this pesky itch! He couldn't even smoke since John found and disposed of his cigarettes.

* * *

"Well, for me, there's no difference between a private life and a public life." Mycroft nods softly as if trying to completely convince himself he really _believed_ that, "My life… My life is The Sherlock Holmes Show. It's a lifestyle. It's a…" Mycroft looks off camera before returning, "Noble life, and" He smiled, "a truly blessed life."

He grew restless, growling ferociously and threw his coat on. He yanked his scarf and ran down the steps, heading out. Halfway onto putting on his scarf he yelled out to Mrs. Hudson, "Won't be home in a while, do have a good night, Mrs. Hudson." Finally finished, he completed his look with a ruffle of his hair.

Mrs. Hudson smiled sweetly at him and waved as he ran off to find a cab. "That boy…" she whispered to herself before returning back into her flat.

* * *

"It's all true. It's all real. _Nothing_ here is un-true. Nothing you see one this show is fake. It's-" John Watson rubbed the back of his neck, sighing softly and, "It's merely controlled."

On John Watson's blog he was rereading some cases, thinking about how brilliant he was and ignoring the cabbie as he tried to make idle chit-chat. He sent off a text to Margaret, warning her he was headed over there.

(Last time he came un-announced she kicked him out with such frantic urgency because she did _not_ do autopsies in front of people.)

_Be cautious of your cabbie. _

His brows furrowed at her response to his text. _What exactly does she mean?_ There was no possible way she was watching him but just to calm the uneasiness in his stomach he looked out both windows. She was nowhere to be seen.

_What exactly do you mean?_

_-SH_

The cabbie, just like anyone would have, gave up on speaking to him. That didn't stop Sherlock Holmes' wandering eyes to do a bit of deducing. _Father. Divorced. Mother has custody. Working as a cab driver to get by._ Nothing was out of the ordinary- in face he was dangerously boring. There was nothing that Sherlock had to be cautious about. He checked his phone. Double checked. Triple.

No response.

He could feel the irritation bubbling through his veins_. What did she know that I don't?_ How did she even know what cab he was taking? _Must have been watching her stupid thriller films. _And that was that.

He moved on.

* * *

"Sherlock Holmes! The great detective."

Sherlock looked up from his microscope for a brief second at the cheery voice.

"Mike Stamford! The mediocre teacher," Sherlock mocked his happy tone, dismissing him quickly as he looked back down at his microscope examining a swab of his neighbor's relentless Dalmatian's saliva.

"Margaret," Mike nodded to her as a sign of acknowledgement.

* * *

_Molly_ tentatively nodded back, shifting uncomfortable now that he was in the room. It wasn't how he spoke to her or how he looked at her. It was him in general. His friendliness towards Sherlock, it wasn't right. It made her sick. _You were once like him. _She tried to destroy that image in her head: She, ready and waiting, for any orders given to her through an earpiece; absolute madness.

No. _Never again._

* * *

"New tea in the Cafeteria today Sherlock, try it, would you?"

Sherlock sighed yet accepted the mug. He gave it sniff, nothing really out of the ordinary except maybe this one was richer in color.

"What is it?" He questioned, hesitant to drink something new.

Mike visibly brightened.

"It's Twinings! 300 years of loyal service and _great _flavor!" Mike was looking off somewhere and Sherlock had to look around the room and tried to find where he was gazing at. But it was like he was staring at nothing. There was nothing there.

"Hardly new then, isn't it?" He said casually, "Mike, are you alright? Never mind I don't really care. Just, get some help if you need it for god's sake you were staring off into nothing," Sherlock sipped the tea, finding it absolutely ordinary, "tea was fine, thank you."

Mike chuckled at his joke and shook his head, walking out without a word.

* * *

Molly twiddled with her thumbs. Yes, _Molly, _although it's hardly a nickname for Margaret she preferred Sherlock to call her anything but what _they _call her. She made her way next to Sherlock, watching him take notes on the bacteria in the saliva. _Say something. Go on, don't be a nervous little mouse._

"Erm-" she cleared her throat, "H-how was your day?"

_Oh, perfect. __**You're **__going to be the girl that saves him. _

"Ah, boring, no cases, no cigarettes, it's like the whole of London is deliberately making me bored just to see if I would kill a man." He spoke quickly, as if just to get all the words out and return to his dog dribble. He sipped some more tea, keeping his eyes on the lens. _At least she was attempting small talk, though it was really not her area. _

Molly scuffed her brown loafer on the floor, melancholic mood slipping through her.

"Don't give them any ideas…" She muttered to herself. Oh God, she could already imagine they were planning something like that out. She could feel her heart beat pick up the pace.

"Who is "them", Margaret?"

Molly's eyes widened for mere second. She didn't bother looking up at him while she tried to regulate her heart beat. _Control. Control. Control. _Steady her emotions. He couldn't tell, he couldn't tell, he couldn't-

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

* * *

"Wait, what is she doing? Oh my god! Someone get her out of there, someone-"

A dainty hand flew in front of the workers face, stilling his movements. He was confused, "Mr. Moriarty?"

"Have a little faith."

The worker felt chill run down his spine with the mere sight of his boss' smile.

* * *

"N-nothing I uh… misspoke."

Sherlock squinted, boring his eyes into. He took a sip of his tea, not even a single blink. He waiting for her to crack like the fragile thing she was.

_This is getting nowhere._

"You seem a bit angry, Margaret. Is there something wrong?" He turned his full attention to Margaret, "Anything I could… _solve_?"

Molly giggled slightly and shook her head, "No, no nothing like that." He was so silly sometimes. It made her wonder if it was worth signing away her life to ruin his.

Sherlock deflated from his previous excitement and returned to his drool sample, finishing off the tea.

"I was just thinking about those, uh, reality TV shows. Do you watch them?"

"I am familiar with trash telly."

"Well, I was just wondering why people find it entertaining. They're watching every minute of that person's life and how anyone…" she looked away, peering into the security camera above, "_anyone_ would be happy living that life, always surrounded by cameras."

* * *

James Moriarty frowned, he knew she wasn't going to say a word, but in a way she was trying to manipulate the audience. It didn't matter; no one would listen to her. It was nice to see little mousy Molly had a bit of a bite.

* * *

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You shouldn't waste your intelligent mind thinking about such dribble." He smiled briefly at her before scribbling a few notes down in his legal pad. He tried to expel the slight embarrassment he felt because he too _loved _watching those shows purely to keep his deductions sharp.

Her lips quirked up at the edges of her mouth, failing to give a real smile, and sighed. This wasn't going well.

What did she expect? She wasn't even escorted out. Even they knew, she would guess the audience did too, that she didn't count…

But she would keep trying! It was horrible what they were doing to this poor man, it was in-humane. Molly would stop at nothing to make things right. To get Sherlock Holmes _off_ of this horrid show.


	2. Chapter 2

The Sherlock Holmes Show

Rating: T

Author's Note: **SH Ships Sherlock: **Thank you! I have a few ideas floating around on how it could end, I'm glad you're giving my story a chance! **MorbidbyDefault: **haha, thank you for the excitement! I'll be sure to keep you interested. **accio-feels: **I will, I will! Fair warning though, I'm a student with way too much work to do so it will take a while to update this story.

**CHAPTER 2:**

James leaned forward in his chair, cynical smile lit up by the multicolored knobs and buttons that illuminated the control panel. He picked the microphone specific for Molly Hooper and held the button to speak; his low brogue accent in her ear piece that made her shiver caused delight within him.

* * *

Molly gnawed her lower lip at his words. He wanted her to- to… _Oh no way I can ask that! Jim is just trying to make me seem like a fool. _She shifted her weight on her hip, fingers curling uncomfortably at the edge of the table. She was growing terribly nervous; her fingers picking at absolutely nothing on the metal. What if he laughed in her face? God what if he listed all the reasons why what she requested was ridiculous? What if-

"Margaret, I deeply encourage you to stop making that infernal tapping. It's distracting. If you have something to say, say it."

Of course he had to notice.

Molly retracted her hands immediately as if the surface had singed her skin. She mumbled an apology, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles of her lab coat. She excused herself, running to the solace of her office bathroom. Locking the door and leaning against it, Molly took in a deep breath. "I can't do this. I ca- oh God, Jim," She avoided her reflection, looking around to find anything she could focus on and relax. She hadn't reacted like this since she was a teenager. She groaned, digging her fingers into her eyelids until it was borderline painful. They slid into her hair, ruining her usual pony, and she sniffed, thinking carefully what she was going to say. Jim 'suggested' - _more like demanded… _she thought bitterly – that Molly ask Sherlock out for dinner.

Her.

Asking him out to dinner.

Sherlock Holmes.

Her eight years of drama school could never prepare her for this. Especially now that she'd known Sherlock for so very long she'd grown infatuated with the prat. She'd heard of method acting and always tried to avoid it after all the confessions of emotional baggage the actors held afterwards. "_Fantastic job, _Molly," She said sarcastically to herself. Finally her eyes drifted to the mirror, taking in her appearance. She tugged away her hair tie to re-tighten her pony tail. She frowned at the redness she caused around her eyes. She splashed her face with cool water to sooth them.

_Okay, I can do this. _

She walked out, hands sticking themselves in her coat pockets – hold on, _what is this? _Molly felt a tiny folded piece of paper and was suddenly reminded of what it was. A while ago Molly was going to invite Sherlock to meet her after dark so she could tell him. _I remember I was too scared to give it to him. No more… _Swiftly she walked into the lab area, seeing him in the exact position he was in when she left – hunched over, peering into the microscope.

"Sherlock…" Molly called as she walked closer to him.

Sherlock acknowledged her with a hum, engrossed in his 'work'.

"Um…" Alright, maybe she wasn't as ready as she claimed to be. _Maybe if he actually thought to look at me while I spoke to him-_

"Out with it Molly, you know how I hate hesitance."

"O-oh, right, sorry," she prepared herself, "would you like to have dinner?"

That seemed to grab his attention. He straightened up, looking at her with a hint of disbelief.

Well, that was something.

"Sorry, what?"

Molly's heart skipped in her chest. She took a few bold steps forward, ending up directly in front of him. Last time she asked him out it wasn't successful at all. He'd misunderstood her offer for coffee together as her offering him coffee. At least now he was on the right track. "Dinner, you and me," she tilted her head suggestively, "alone." She hesitated before placing her hand on his chest, realizing just how close the two were. With the paper hidden between two fingers, her other hand gently touched his thigh – she didn't mean for it too look as bad as it did, she was aiming for his pocket.

She was really doing this. Her hand was slightly trembling and she _could not_ believe she was actually pulling this off. Sherlock wasn't recoiling in disgust and she saw no real resistance in his shifting eyes. Jim would have been so pleased.

* * *

In fact he was more than pleased. James' smile shone with encouragement; all pearly teeth.

"Button cam two," He ordered the person next to him not daring to tear his eyes away from what was on the glorious screen. A man jumped and fumbled to sit upright and look for the correct button to press out of the thousands.

* * *

Molly Hooper's button revealed Sherlock's deadly concentrated face.

He was taken aback until he realized there had to have been some ulterior motive. Margaret never acted this way. His eyes drifted from her dainty hands all the way up to her slender neck and landed on her face. She was chewing her lower lip, no doubt nervous of what he would say and regretting her actions by the second. The warmth of her hands was oddly comforting as they were confusing. He knew she was waiting for an answer but he was baffled by the amount of questions he had himself.

* * *

"Beautiful. I almost don't want to interrupt them."

James' sneered, "_Almost_."

* * *

A knock on the door made Molly jump. Before pulling away she slipped the paper into his pocket securely. Her cheeks began to burn because even when she looked towards the door, his brooding eyes never left. He continued examining her face with unsure thoughts.

"Mol- Margaret? I'm coming in, is Sherlock-"

John Watson came through the door like that horrible commercial that comes up during the climax of your favorite show. Despite the disappointment settling in her stomach – she felt relieved it was John. He was familiar to her; they went to school together and were great friends before the show.

"Hello, John!" Molly fixed up a smile, taking a step towards him and away from Sherlock. God, it felt like she would catch fire under his stare.

"Yes John, I am here."

His voice after the painful silence almost melted her into a puddle of goo. Her eyes begged John to leave even though she knew it was moot. John did seem apologetic after his eyes looked between the two and he realized what was actually going on. He understood Jim knew of Molly's crush and it just made him that much more of a prick in his eyes.

John shook his head, deciding against asking what was going on and saving them all the embarrassment.

"I was just- um looking for you. We have a few clients at the flat right now."

Sherlock was all ears. It was a perfect distraction from whatever it was that just occurred. He would read the note from Margaret later; there were certainly more work stimulating things to be done. Before he went to grab his coat he murmured in Molly's ear something her button could barely pick up.

"Bye Molly – oh damn, _Margaret. _Sorry." John cringed while he messed her name up once again. He was so used to Molly; he couldn't be bothered by calling her Margaret just because of Jim's request.

"_See you later."_ Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her whilst putting on his coat.

Molly had to admit, she felt her lips tug into a smile. Sherlock even went as far as to wink at her playfully. Molly reassured herself that everything would be fine. By the time Christmas comes around and Mrs. Hudson held her little party Sherlock Holmes would _know. _Though as to how she would tell him…

She had no idea.


End file.
